


Immeasurable

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Beaches, Drowning, M/M, Mistakes, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-07-17 21:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19963528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "All the maybes count for nothing right now, with the iron fist of reality gripping to agonizing tension around Shizuo so he feels every second resonate in his head like a death knell." Shizuo makes a greater misstep than he realizes and finds more than he expected in remedying it.





	Immeasurable

Shizuo hadn’t meant to hurt him.

It was an accident. He can hardly claim innocence on this subject in general; he knows as well as any how often his spats with Izaya turn into city-wide destruction, how easily a simple taunt can flare his blood and set his teeth on unrestrained fury. Nothing is simple with Izaya, no interaction is ever any better than the seething possibility of violence dressed up in ill-fitting civility; but Shizuo hadn’t been angry, this time. It’s hard to fray his temper under the blistering heat of the summertime sun, it seems to melt the threat of his anger right out of him on contact; and Izaya had restrained himself as well, whether from similar appreciation of the warmth or just out of a self-preservation he has never demonstrated before. Shizuo thinks they might even have looked like friends, to someone distant enough along the beach to see no more than the splash of water as they swept waves up and crashing over each other; he thinks he might have even made that mistake, given enough time to linger in the unusual peace between them.

Not that he was allowed that. Maybe, if they had stayed farther back on the shore, if they had retreated up the sand to the shade of the umbrella Shinra set up and lingered beneath with Celty at his side; if they had paused to eat when Shizuo had first felt the possibility of hunger, or lingered longer over the iced tea Izaya had bought from the stand a little farther up the sun-bleached dunes. But all the maybes count for nothing right now, with the iron fist of reality gripping to agonizing tension around Shizuo so he feels every second resonate in his head like a death knell.

He hadn’t known. It was a game they were playing, or closer to that than the taunting in which they usually engage; Izaya was sweeping gouts of water up to crash over Shizuo, chasing away the glow of the sun and startling him into frowning attention. Shizuo had turned to protest, to scowl at Izaya and cow him into surrender, and Izaya’s next wave had hit him full in the face, filling his open mouth to wash away his protest and surging into his nose so he coughed and choked with the bite of the salt. Izaya had laughed, his voice as bright and blistering as the sunshine, and Shizuo had lunged forward even before he cleared his vision to seize hold of Izaya before him, even fumbling half-blind. Izaya is slower in the water, a little less steady on his feet than across the pavement of the city; it’s that, Shizuo thinks, that let his reaching hands clutch to a hold against Izaya’s arm to hold him in place while Shizuo shook his hair from his face so he could see what he was doing again. Izaya had been pulling against his hold, fighting against what he must have known to be an unbreakable hold; but he was still smiling, still grinning bright even when Shizuo growled and seized at his other shoulder as well. It was only when his feet left the ground that Izaya’s smile had given way, and by then Shizuo was already lifting the other’s weight up over his head. Izaya had yelped, “ _ Shizuo _ ,” loud and fraught with something Shizuo had never heard in his voice before; but Shizuo was moving already, his arms flexing to fling Izaya out towards the deep water of the summer-blue ocean. Izaya had flailed as Shizuo threw him, both hands reaching out as if desperate to cling to Shizuo, as if reaching for the closeness he has always denied Shizuo before; but the force was too much, and with nothing to hold to he had fallen through an arc to splash out into the deep water of the ocean several meters away.

Shizuo hadn’t meant to throw him so far. It’s another influence of his strength, when he forgets to think of it; but it’s just water, there’s nothing to worry about. He stands at the edge of the waves lapping around his knees, gazing out into the blue with the uncomfortable impulse to apologize against the back of his tongue; but Izaya is going to be back in a moment, Shizuo is sure of it. He’s probably swimming back even now, reaching out to clutch at Shizuo’s ankles unseen and drag the other underwater with him; and then Shinra’s voice comes from the beach, “Was that Izaya?” in a tone of bright curiosity.

Shizuo turns back from the water’s edge, giving up his attention for Izaya’s return to look to Shinra. “Yeah,” he says. “He was splashing me so I threw him into the water.”

“Oh wow,” Shinra laughs. “I guess he should have known better than to tease you, huh? He really did get himself in trouble this time.”

Shizuo frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Shinra blinks at him from the shade of the umbrella. His glasses catch the light to a reflection too bright for Shizuo to see past. “Izaya can’t swim,” he says.

Shizuo stares at Shinra for a moment. It’s just a breath of hesitation, a heartbeat of disbelief; but it’s enough for him to feel the burden of delay against him, like a countdown against some timer he can’t read. He swings around to look back out to the water, his eyes opening wide with the awareness of Shinra’s words; and then he lunges forward, splashing out into the ocean unmarked by anyone breaking the surface but himself. The waves break around his thighs and splash over his chest, and then Shizuo dives under the surface to bring himself forward more quickly through the liquid that feels as sticky-clinging as syrup now that seconds have become such a matter of life and death.

Izaya isn’t moving. Shizuo can see him right away, marked out against the underwater haze of their surroundings by the night-dark shadow of his hair floating around his face; he’s drifting, his body slack and carried more by the force of the water shifting around him than his own will. Shizuo kicks forward towards him, seizing an arm around the curve of Izaya’s waist to pull the other in against him, but Izaya doesn’t struggle to get free, doesn’t lift his head to flash that too-bright smile at Shizuo. He’s just limp, an unresisting weight as Shizuo kicks to bring them to the surface, and even when they break out into open air Izaya doesn’t lift his head to gasp for air, doesn’t move to even keep his face above the water. He hangs slack in Shizuo’s hold, the waves around them splashing over pale lips and unfocused eyes, and Shizuo feels his blood go to ice in spite of the blistering heat of the air around them.

It’s only Shizuo’s strength that brings them back to shore. It’s hard to swim with one arm occupied in bracing the dead weight of another person against him, and more so when Shizuo is trying to maneuver to keep Izaya’s face out of the water. Finally he gives up this effort in favor of crossing the distance to shore as quickly as he can, under the premise that Izaya isn’t breathing already and is hardly going to benefit from Shizuo’s attempts to keep him above the surface of the water. When his feet touch sand beneath him he’s on them at once, stumbling up out of the ocean while the waves are still breaking against his shoulders and lapping around his chest as he drags Izaya’s slack form to weight across the support of both arms in front of him. They cross the last distance like that, Izaya sprawled against Shizuo’s chest while Shizuo’s heart races fast enough for the both of them, and it’s only once Shizuo’s feet are skidding against the heat of dry sand that he drops to his knees to deposit Izaya to lie across the beach in front of him.

“Is he dead?” Shinra asks, sounding more intrigued than worried. Shizuo shakes his head without looking up at the other, but his gesture is more to push away the distraction of Shinra’s speech than to provide an actual response. Izaya’s certainly not breathing, that much Shizuo can tell from the slack weight of his head against the sand and the water spilling from his parted lips, and if his heart is beating there’s no sign of motion in his chest. Izaya’s lips are darker, too, fading from bloodless pallor to shade towards a blue that clenches Shizuo’s heart on a panic too great for him to put words to it. He stares at Izaya in front of him, all thought of anger and vengeance swept aside by the awful weight of guilt and terror and desperation, and then a pair of sandals steps into view and Shinra drops to crouch at the other’s side. His hands press to Izaya’s head to lift the other upright before his fingers come down to press with practiced skill to the line of the other’s neck; Shizuo looks up to Shinra’s face, feeling some measure of relief at the other’s professional calm. Surely Shinra can help, Shinra will know what to do; but Shinra is shaking his head and drawing his hands away to leave Izaya’s head to fall heavy to the side again.

“His heart’s stopped,” he declares with calm certainty. “Oxygen isn’t circulating through his body anymore.”

Shizuo stares at Shinra. “What does that mean?” he snaps, his tone edging towards more panic than true anger. “How do we get it started again?”

Shinra’s bare shoulders lift into a shrug. “CPR,” he says. “And proper medical attention, after that. But it’ll take a while to get treatment out here, we’re pretty far from the entrance to the beach.”

Shizuo glances back towards the entrance. He can see the cluster of people there, some few minutes’ of walking away; impossibly far, with Izaya’s lips fading towards purple as the seconds eat away his chances of survival. It’s only for a moment that Shizuo looks; then he turns back to reach out and brace a hand at Izaya’s shoulder to hold the other steady. “Go and get help.”

“Sure.” Shinra pushes to his feet from the sand, still looking down at Izaya and Shizuo leaning in over him. “Do you want me to do it?”

Shizuo shakes his head. “Get help,” he says, and slides closer to straddle Izaya’s hips with the brace of his knees. He doesn’t want to explain that he can’t bear the thought of running away, of retreating for the few minutes that will decide life or death for Izaya; the idea of coming back to find everything over with is more than he can countenance even in imagination. Shinra straightens, his shoes scuffing as he turns to fall into a loping run through the sand with Celty trailing like a shadow, and Shizuo settles himself over Izaya as he reaches to brace his palms against the span of the other’s chest.

He realizes his mistake at once. His hands are trembling with adrenaline, his fingers shuddering with too-much tension as he braces one atop the other; at his shoulders the muscles of his back are bunching with the need to act, to move against the cause of the panic coursing through him. And before him, still and silent and painfully delicate, Izaya is lying with his life going cold within him. Shizuo needs to act, to move, to force Izaya’s heart back into motion and fill his lungs with the air stolen by the grip of the ocean into which Shizuo cast him; but his hands are filled with more strength than Shizuo can trust even to the support of his own muscle and bone. If he pushes too hard, if he misjudges his force...but Shinra is gone, too distant to be called back, and Shizuo can’t stay still and leave Izaya to a certain fate instead of just a likely one. Shizuo stares at Izaya’s unmoving chest, at the tremble of his fingers quivering with his own uncertainty; and then he sets his jaw, and clasps one hand tight in the other, and leans in to press his palm firmly against Izaya’s chest.

He can’t tell how hard he’s pushing. It needs to be a measured force, enough to carry through the barrier of Izaya’s chest to force his heart to action; but Shizuo can’t tell if he’s moving too hard or if he’s not urging enough. He aims for steady, certain but not hard, as best as he can judge it; certainly he’s getting some movement, and if he’s bruising Izaya’s pale skin at least there’s no sound of cracking bone to say he’s gone too far. Shizuo works over Izaya, his jaw set on gritted tension as he limits his efforts to his wrists rather than the whole of his arms and the too-much power in his shoulders, before he gives over the rapid pattern of force to reach for Izaya’s face and turn the other’s head up towards him. He pinches Izaya’s nose shut and leans in, pressing his mouth tight over the other’s before he exhales hard to force his breath to fill Izaya’s lungs.

“Come on,” he growls as he straightens to return to his careful force at Izaya’s chest, fixing his gaze on the flex of muscle in his arms to keep it measured rather than watching for a reaction in Izaya’s unresponsive face. “Come on, come  _ on _ , you can’t go like this, Izaya.” Another breath, as hard as Shizuo dares before he returns to the press of his hands. “I’m not letting you go. If I have to do this all day I will, Izaya, don’t think I won’t, I’m not stopping until you open your damn eyes.” His movement to lean in and fit his mouth over Izaya’s is almost fluid, this time, as his body gratefully takes the distraction of rhythm in place of the crippling terror of possibility. “Izaya, Izaya, Iza--”

Izaya’s chest convulses under Shizuo’s palms, flexing so suddenly Shizuo is sure he’s pushed too hard in his desperation, that it’s Izaya’s ribcage shattering he’s feeling. He snatches his hands back, as if to undo their motion by sufficiently rapid retreat, and on the sand before him Izaya coughs and chokes on a surge of water. Shizuo sucks in a startled inhale and reaches to turn him sideways but Izaya is twisting on his own, his shoulders moving reflexively to turn him so he can vomit seawater out onto the sand next to him. Shizuo’s hand touches Izaya’s shoulders instead, his palm pressing to the sand sticking to the other’s back, and Izaya coughs and gasps and chokes up what seems an endless amount of water. He’s sobbing for breath by the time it’s done, his shoulders shaking and fingers dug deep into the sand, and Shizuo has a hand at his arm to steady him along with the palm pressing to the other’s back.

“Izaya,” he says. His voice is strange in his own ears; it’s only as he hears it that Shizuo realizes there are tears on his face, fresh wet following the tracks of salt laid there by extended emotion. He must have been crying as he leaned over Izaya; he hadn’t even noticed for his attention to his hands. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Izaya croaks, his voice torn raw on the effort in his throat. “Just a little drowned, Shizu-chan, it’s nothing to worry about.” He braces an elbow at the sand to urge himself up so he can look back over his shoulder around them. “Where’s Shinra?”

“He went to get help,” Shizuo says.

Izaya’s eyes come up to lock onto Shizuo’s face. Shizuo never thought he would be so happy to see the vivid color of that gaze meeting his own. “He’s gone?” he says. His gaze drops to Shizuo’s hand at his arm, jumps back up to the other’s mouth. “Did  _ you _ do CPR on me?”

“I had to,” Shizuo says. “You weren’t breathing.”

“A fact you were unlikely to remedy,” Izaya says. “Or was that your plan, to crush all my ribs before an ambulance could get here and be done with me at once?” He tips his head to the side, the corner of his mouth pulls up towards almost-a-smirk; it’s an expression Shizuo recognizes as the start to a fight, if worn a little ragged by Izaya’s present state. “You really are selfish, Shizu-chan, to want to take my life with your own hands. Leaving me to drown wasn’t good enough for you, I take it?”

He’s teasing. Shizuo can see the signs of it in the angle of Izaya’s lashes, in the slant of his mouth even if his lips are still clinging to the blue of suffocation. His voice is scraped raw by saltwater but he’s still aiming for his taunting lilt, even now, as if in a hurry to return to their usual dynamic; as if nothing has really changed at all, when Shizuo feels like the world was crumbling under him only to come back upside-down from where it was before. Shizuo stares at Izaya, at the pale of his face and the shadow of his lashes and the sand sticking to his skin and tangled into his hair; and then he drags a ragged breath into his lungs, and Izaya’s eyes go wide on more shock than Shizuo has ever seen in them. It would be gratifying if Shizuo had the space to spare for vindication, but he’s too busy collapsing forward to press his face to the rising bruise at Izaya’s chest and gasping a sob of relief to the feel of Izaya’s heart beating once more.

“I’m so glad,” Shizuo says, and reaches to clutch around Izaya’s waist with both arms. “I’m so glad you’re alive, Izaya.” Izaya has gone rigid in his hold, as still as if he’s trying to stop his own pulse again by force of shock, but he doesn’t move to shove Shizuo’s hold away, and Shizuo is happy to stay still and gasp relief for a reprieve he never would have expected to hope for. They stay like that for a long moment, Izaya still while Shizuo sobs against him; then Izaya’s arm shifts, his hand lifts. There’s a touch at Shizuo’s hair, feather-soft as if uncertain of its welcome; Shizuo doesn’t jerk away, and after a moment Izaya’s fingers press farther into the wet locks, until he has curled his hold into a fist against Shizuo’s hair.

It would be easy to pull, to bring pain out of the moment of peace; but Izaya’s fingers stay steady, and Shizuo’s hold remains gentle as the sound of Shizuo’s breathing and Izaya’s heartbeat falls into rhythm with the rush of the waves against the sand.


End file.
